


Him.

by SmallRedRobin13



Series: Wraith Mahariel, Lily Hawke and Enansal Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: A little nonsensical, F/M, Heavy Angst, very poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8773246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallRedRobin13/pseuds/SmallRedRobin13
Summary: My interpretation of the story of Wraith's parents





	

He told Katara to run, so she did. Sprinting through the forest, tripping over roots and branches as the Creators guided her to his Clan’s campsite. She stumbled in, exhausted and they surrounded her with safety and questions.  
“Where is he?”  
Marethari, the first, tended to her with kind words and magic. Until Katara could register what had happen.  
That he was gone.  
They grieved alongside her and welcomed her as one of her own. They nurtured her and she slowly began to heal. The pain numbed and she felt like she could breathe again. Until she realised what she carried inside of her. A constant reminder of him, of how she abandoned him to his fate. The child wasn’t born, it was only a Wraith of him.  
“What’s her name?” Ashalle asked gently, her voice echoing from another world. Katara tried to force the words out, to tell Ashalle that it wasn’t a child, that it was just a Wraith of him. Of Linden. But all that came out was a single word.  
“Wraith.”  
“Wraith,” Ashalle repeated, “What a beautiful name.”  
Katara watched as the Keeper cleaned the Wraith and tried to hand it back to her, only to be pushed away. She would -couldn’t- touch this mockery of the man she loved.  
“Get it away!” She wailed, swatting at it. Ashalle obliged, taking the Wraith away as it started to wail itself.

The night air was laced with the cool crispness that winter brought as Katara stepped out of her aravel, dressed in nothing more than a simple white shift. She was tired. Tired of hearing the Wraith’s false cries. Tired of Ashalle’s attempts to make her love that monster. Tired of living without Linden. He guided her to the lake. It was thinly coated with the paint of ice and the artist had embellished it with many swirls and markings. He danced with her as she stepped onto the ice, leading her further out and further into the dance.  
Their wedding dance.  
He danced with her laughing and promising happy times to come, running his hand through her long black hair. She laughed to, but it was the cackle of a madwoman, not the joyful laugh of a newlywed. The ice froze her feet, creeping up her legs until the dance finally came to an end, along with the strength of the ice. Tiny cracks appeared beneath her feet until the cold water baptised her.

Taking Katara to him.


End file.
